Diablo: The Wayward Path
by Might is Write
Summary: A renegade Paladin turns from the Church to seek the true meaning of justice. An outlawed Sorceress strives to prove her magical dominance. An unending horde of demons and the undead stand in their way.
1. Chapter I: Let Faith Guide My Hand

Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo, or any associated characters, as they are property of Blizzard Entertainment. However, any original characters or events belong to me.

* * *

CHAPTER 1 

Let Faith Guide My Hand

"_Our business in the field of fight, is not to question, but to prove our might."_

_- Alexander Pope_

* * *

Judging from the sun's high position in the sky, Argus estimated it to be around half past noon when he entered the village of Windsong. A small farming community on the outskirts of the Western Kingdoms, Windsong was normally filled with cheery faces and hard-working farmers. The paladin recalled when last he had visited the pleasant village, it was swarming with frolicking children and stray animals. This time, however, the paladin had entered the town only to find an eerie silence broken only by short gusts of howling winds. 

The paladin himself wasn't the biggest or most imposing man, but every inch of him beneath his steel armor was pure muscle, with skin stretched tightly against well defined muscles. He had an average complexion and short blonde hair tucked beneath his helm. His features were narrow and round, his cheeks sunken from fasting. At his hip a long sword at least the size of his arm rested in it's scabbard. His left hand was wrapped around the handle of his shield, which was triangular in shape, ending in a very distinct point at the bottom. His alert, ocean blue eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of life.

In the distance, Argus could see swaying patches of grain and corn as they danced in the wind. Yet, the paladin sensed a mourning in their dance and could clearly see they hadn't been tended in the past few days. As he made his way further into the village, he discovered why.

Fallen corpses of slain townsfolk littered the dusty trail leading through the village. Argus saw entrails spread across the ground, lying in pools of crimson blood that seeped into the dirt below. If it hadn't been for his strict training, the knight may have cringed at the gory scene, but years of harsh battles and even worse experiences allowed the paladin to keep himself composed.

Further and further he went, bending down to check the pulse of each victim he passed. He said a prayer to the Light after discovering the passing of all he found. From what he could see, most victims had been run through with sword blades, some cut so many times they were hardly recognizable.

Kneeling next to a fallen child, the paladin put his fingers to the toddler's neck and felt for any signs of life. Having found none, he drew a line in the air with his hand and crossed it in prayer. As he was about to speak the holy words of mourning, the sound of a deeply drawn breath caught his attention. Immediately, the paladin was on his feet and running toward where the sound had come from.

Cutting behind a small house and crossing a makeshift path that led to a field of grain, Argus spotted the visage of a bleeding man. A cough of blood assured the paladin he had not been hearing things. It also assured him he did not have much time. He would have to act soon if he hoped to save this man.

The man was adorned in worn overalls stained with his own life fluids. A series of gashes surrounded a hole in the man's stomach where a blade had been stuck, then pulled free.

Upon seeing the approaching paladin, only a small flicker in his eyes signified his recognition.

"Good God man, what happened?" Argus asked, bending down and applying pressure to the man's stomach to try and staunch the bleeding.

"I…just…got back f-f-from a hunting trip," he choked out, blood running from his mouth like a river. His bloodshot eyes dilated and he slumped over in pain.

The paladin began praying to the Light for mercy on this poor man when suddenly he spoke again.

"I . . . f-f-ound my family," he pointed toward the house nearest them. "They were all….dead. I tried to escape, but…."

"But what?" Argus asked. "Who did this?"

Still struggling to survive, the man cringed in pain as a fresh stream of crimson slithered down his chin. It was too late to save him. Somehow, the dying farmer managed to raise an arm and with obvious effort, extend a finger over the paladin's shoulder. With that, his body went limp and he collapsed. Argus caught his head just before it would've hit the ground, then set it lightly where it would've fallen.

A shadow blocked the sun, and at first the paladin thought it was only cloud cover, until a deep sense of dread ran up his spine.

In a single fluid motion, he drew his long sword and spun to his feet. The gleaming blade, nearly as pristine as his armor, seemed to hiss a warning as it slid from it's scabbard.

As he turned, he caught his first glimpse of his opponent. Skeletal in appearance, the undead warrior's murderous gaze was made even more frightening by the scarlet colors emanating from it's eyes. Above it's head, the reanimated fighter held a two-handed great sword, it's blade serrated and curved at the end. The skeleton wore iron armor dotted with rust spots. The fiend's helm had two bull-like horns jutting from it's sides.

Argus brought his shield up just in time to block the skeleton's first slash. The impact of the attack, however, made him drop his shoulder low. The skeleton saw it's opening and swung again. The blade bit into the paladin's shoulder armor. Luckily, the blow only managed to scratch the surface of his flesh.

As the skeleton went to wrench free it's weapon, Argus thrust his long sword forward. His blade went right under the skeleton's armor and tore through the fiend's rib bones. An inhuman cry came from his undead adversary.

Finally pulling free it's weapon, the skeleton swung it's sword back, preparing for another powerful blow. But Argus wasn't about to fall prey to the same attack twice. As his opponent began to swing toward him, Argus closed in, bashing the skeleton's arms aside with his shield. The paladin followed up with a quick slash at the undead fighter's elbow. His blade cut through the bone like a knife through butter and the skeleton reeled back, missing an appendage.

Seizing his newfound upper hand, Argus ducked down and kicked at his opponent's heels. The skeleton collapsed under the pressure and hit the ground. Quickly coming to his feet, Argus firmly planted a foot on his adversary's remaining arm and sheathed his sword.

Words of power formed on his lips, words that beckoned to the High Heavens themselves. As he continued his incantation, Argus held his hand toward the skeleton. Finally, screaming the final word, the paladin cast his spell. Pure righteous energy leapt from his hand in a flash of light. The bolt was a vessel of life, which made it the bane of the undead. The second the blast struck it's target, the skeleton was consumed by the light and burned to cinders.

Argus stepped back and watched as the ashes that remained disintegrated into the air. With contempt, the paladin praised the Light and headed back toward the center of the village. His senses were telling him this wasn't the only evil in Windsong that needed to be purged. Reanimated warriors needed something to control them. Either one of the foul necromancers Argus had heard about, or a demon with necromantic powers. Whichever was right, Argus vowed he'd avenge the villagers that had fallen. Justice would come swift and without mercy.

As he charged down the village's main trail, Argus caught sight of two more skeletons. The undead soldiers carried shields and wicked-looking maces. The skeletons immediately caught sight of the paladin and with demonic cackles began toward him. Each soldier took a position on either of his sides and began slowly strafing in a circle, closing in with each pass.

With a metallic hiss, the paladin's sword was drawn. Argus turned in sync with his opponents, keeping both in his line of view. He guarded against one with his shield, the other with his sword, anticipating an attack any second.

Just as he had expected, both skeletons lunged forward at once. Argus leaned toward the one to his left and used his shield to knock the soldier's attack to the side. As he did, his second opponent swung it's spiked mace.

Argus parried the blow with his long sword and kicked the reanimated warrior's leg, causing the skeleton to falter. One swing of his sword wrenched free the burden of the skeleton's skull. The rest of the body crumpled into a pile of bone and armor.

His first opponent had now recovered and readied a second swing, this time aiming much higher. As Argus ducked under the blow, he felt a small amount of pressure lift from his skull, but lunged forward nonetheless. With a quick thrust, the paladin beheaded the undead soldier. Just as with the first one he slew, this skeleton became a useless pile of bone and steel. Looking down, he noticed the skeleton's attack had knocked off his helmet, leaving it dented and broken. The paladin left it discarded, the feeling of the wind was relaxing anyway.

Now breathing heavily from over exertion, Argus confidently continued down the trail and toward the outskirts of the village.

* * *

The city of Westmarch, named after the kingdom in which it resided, was full of life this day. The streets were packed with activity, each marketplace and trading post swamped with business. Cyndia, or Cyn, as she liked to be called, pushed through the ceaseless crowds. Her slim, curvy figure drew the attention of many wandering eyes, but she strode confidently and with her head held high. Her flowing black hair hung down to her shoulders and matched her dark complexion perfectly. Her dark brown eyes were outlined by her long eyelashes. She wore a dark blue top made of velvet that held her bosom up tightly, further enhancing her appeal to the opposite sex and she also wore a matching skirt. 

Where other women would say she was scantily clad, Cyn would say she was allowing her body full range of motion. She needed to be able to move quickly and without any obstructions if she was going to be able to cast her spells effectively and properly dodge incoming attacks. She was a Zann Esu, a female mage more commonly called a sorceress. Since she was seven, she had been trained by the finest witches in Sanctuary to wield the powerful magic of the elements. She had been taught that her magic was the best and she should ever strive to prove that fact. When the rumor of one of the Prime Evils reappearing had spread, she had come to Westmarch to confirm it.

So far though, she had only heard useless rabble that was probably a warped form of the truth. Some said that after the defeat of Diablo, the Lord of Terror, peace had been restored and recent demon attacks were only the result of reckless abandon by the Prime Evil's remaining minions. Others, however, spoke a tale far more horrific. It had been said that Diablo's brother, Baal, the Lord of Destruction, had made his triumphant return to Sanctuary. If this was true, it meant Cyn could prove her, and her clan's, ultimate dominance over all the other mages by defeating the demon.

Her mind momentarily lost in her own thoughts, the sorceress failed to see the approaching caravan. The horse drawn wagon struck her shoulder and knocked her to the ground. The stone street cutting into her exposed flesh, the female mage uttered a curse in temper. In response, the wagon burst to flame. Only after hearing the screams of frightened men and horses did the sorceress recognize her folly. Her magic had reacted to her anger and set the wagon ablaze.

Cyn rose to her feet and ran to the burning wagon. With a small amount of concentration, she put out the magical flames. The surrounding crowd watched.

"Witch! She set the wagon aflame!" a man yelled. The crowd began stirring.

"No-I-I didn't mean to!" Cyn started.

Just then, a city guard pushed through the crowd.

"What's going on here?" the armored man asked.

"It's her, that foul magic-user tried to burn me!" the wagon driver yelled accusingly.

"If I hadn't put out the flames just as quickly then I would've succeeded, it was obviously an accident, I-" but the sorceress was cut off.

"You are under arrest by Imperial decree!" the city guard proclaimed, drawing his sword. "Come peacefully and there will be no trouble."

"You don't understand" Cyn begged. "I would never do something like this on purpose."

"I've had enough of your defiance!" the guard bellowed. "This is your last warning!"

Cyn watched the man as he shifted his weapon into a more offensive stance. Despite the guard's threat, the sorceress remained defiant.

"I will pay for the damage, there's no need for this!" she exclaimed.

"Then you leave me no choice, I will have to take you by force!" the guard yelled a battle cry and charged forward.

"You would do well not to advance any further" Cyn said, her voice suddenly deeper and more threatening. The guard stopped in his tracks. He snickered.

"Foolish maiden, you would seek to threaten _me_?" he taunted. "That merely gives me a second charge to bring against you! Not to mention a second reason to slay you should you resist!"

Cyn's eyes went dark, like swirling black holes. Her loose hair rose like the tentacles of a kraken, whipping this way and that in an imaginary breeze. The sorceress coolly raised a hand and beckoned the guard forward with one finger.

The man hesitated. Then, cautiously, took a step toward her.

With that, Cyn muttered an incantation and threw her hands forward as if to cast some destructive spell. The guard flinched, ducking behind his shield. The crowd shuddered.

But when nothing happened, the guard rose to his feet only to find that the sorceress had vanished into thin air. Frustrated, the man tossed down his shield and screamed in anger.

Atop the nearest tavern's roof, Cyn flashed a smile before turning and vanishing into the wind.

* * *

A/N: It's been a while since I last posted on this site, but I'm back! Drop me a review if you got the time. If not, I'll just have to be disappointed. 


	2. Chapter II: Might and Magic

Emmy Cindy: Thanks for your review, your kind words are what inspired this chapter.

* * *

CHAPTER II 

Might and Magic

"_When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you."_

* * *

Cyn looked back on the city of Westmarch, the bleak fortress nearly lost in the horizon. Fleeing from the guard had certainly been necessary, but the sorceress wondered whether or not it would prove to be even more costly. It hardly seemed a serious crime to burn a passing wagon, especially if it was an accident, but resisting arrest and fleeing were definitely crimes worthy of pursuit. 

Though she carried no weapon, the mage certainly wasn't unarmed and she was sure that if the guards did choose to come for her, she'd be prepared. Turning back toward the direction of the woods she had fled to, Cyn scanned her surroundings. The landscape was dotted with thick shrubbery, which gave the numerous trees a wide berth, leaving small patches of clear ground. Fallen leaves and needles spackled the ground, almost completely covering the nutrient-rich soil of the Western Kingdoms. In the dense canopies above, the sorceress listened to the songs of birds and chattering of small mammals.

Pressing forward, the woman carefully began navigating her way through the underbrush. Reaching out with her heightened senses, the sorceress could easily find the safest routes, ensuring she avoided the presence of bigger animals. Westmarch was said to be filled with giants, human-like in appearance, but brutish in strength and heavily corrupted by the presence of Hell's minions. She had even heard tales of organized clans of 'goatmen', corrupted beings who had once been locked away in deep labyrinths that now came to heed the call of Hell.

Suddenly, she heard the snapping of a nearby twig and went rigid. It had been several minutes since she last scanned the area with her magic, and she was now beginning to doubt her previous thoroughness. Sending out a magical probe of her immediate area, she picked up the presence of another.

Turning in the direction of the said presence, she began drawing on her magical strength, preparing to cast any number of spells should the need arise.

A childish giggle came from behind her and suddenly she picked up the presence of several beings. Whipping around, she caught a glimpse of something moving through the brush. With a wave of her hand, magical energy burst forth, manifesting in the form of a bolt of lightning. The magical projectile burned through the brush and struck something solid. Cyn heard a cry of pain follow and quickly moved toward it.

Pushing aside the singed shrubbery, the sorceress found the charred corpse of her intended target. The smell of burnt flesh pierced her nostrils immediately, making her cough and forcing her to cover her nose. The fallen creature before her was half her size in height, twice her thickness, and bore a resemblance to the fabled imps of Hell. In it's hand was a curved scimitar and the only clothing it wore was a simple loin cloth. She bent down to further investigate the corpse when it suddenly began glowing, golden energy emanating from it's every pore.

The glow became even more pronounced with each second, forcing the sorceress to shield her eyes. She could sense something moving where the corpse had been and shuddered. When the light finally faded, she uncovered her eyes just in time to throw herself to the side in order to dodge a vicious slash from the creature's scimitar. The once-dead imp was now on it's feet and charging her.

To Cyn's horror, brush all around her gave way to more of the imps, each wielding crude weapons. Some were even adorned with shields or primitive breastplates. Before the sorceress could get to her feet, the demons had her surrounded and were hooting and chanting in high-pitched voices and guttural growls.

The sorceress smiled. The little fiends thought they had her captured. With a simple thought, she disappeared from her laying position and flickered into existence several feet behind the demonic party. She watched as the creatures looked around in sudden confusion. A few even broke out into fights, appearing to blame one another for her disappearance. As the sorceress turned to run, she was nearly scorched by an incoming ball of fire.

From straight ahead of her, another imp appeared, this one decorated in animal skins and skulls and carrying a staff. The special clothing and weapon indicated the creature as a shaman, meaning it was responsible for the magical assault that had nearly done her in.

Cyn did not flee this fight. If the shaman wanted a fight, it would certainly get it.

Flicking her wrist forward, Cyn called on her own magic. A spike of pure ice energy rocketed from her palm, leaving a trail of frost in it's wake.

As the incoming projectile neared it, the shaman hooted in some indistinct, primitive language. Another ball of fire leapt from it's staff and intercepted the sorceress's attack. Both spells clashed, sending repercussions rippling though the air. When the dust settled, the shaman remained unharmed.

Cyn was impressed by the small creature's improvisation, having clearly underestimated her opponent. She would not make that mistake a second time.

Just then, the other demons broke through the foliage behind her and she was forced to turn her attention away from the shaman. Focusing her will on the ground between her and them, Cyn cast a spell. A barrier of pure flame erupted from the earth, catching one of the demon's mid-jump and turning it to ash. The others hesitated, then retreated, clearly intimidated by the death of their comrade. Cyn made out a roar from the shaman, one of obvious anger at the warriors for fleeing.

The sorceress turned back to her magical adversary just in time to see the shaman's staff begin glowing a familiar gold. Necromantic powers suddenly resurrected the woman's latest victim. The impish creature picked up it's club and started toward her, the fire wall now behind it. Cyn's brow furrowed and she sensed the return of the fled demons. Whatever cowardice had struck them before was now gone. A few made their way around the length of the magical barrier the mage had erected and charged.

Putting two and two together, the sorceress ignored them and focused on the shaman. It was clear to her that she wouldn't rid herself of the warriors until the magic-user had been slain.

As mana coursed through the woman's body, Cyn's eyes transformed into globes of white light. Her hair began thrashing in all directions and sparks of energy flickered in and out of existence all around her. The built up magic surged, having been contained for too long, but the sorceress held her control over it. Pointing her finger at the shaman, Cyn began chanting an incantation. Though she knew her spell to be overkill, she wouldn't risk leaving the shaman only injured.

With a final word, the sorceress's finger crackled with power. Swinging it back, then thrusting it forward, Cyn's spell took shape. The stream of lightning that sizzled into being was easily twice the size of her previous one and flew like a thrown javelin, striking the shaman in the chest.

The demonic mage shrieked in terror as it's entire body was consumed by electricity. When the spell had faded, what was left of the shaman blew away in the wind.

Horrified calls came from the imp warriors swarming her, the demons mourning the loss of their leader. Still invigorated by massive amounts of stored magic, Cyn turned toward her remaining foes. With a simple gesture, she released the leftover power of her spell. Chains of lightning leapt from warrior to warrior, their weapons acting as lightning rods.

Her body now utterly drained of power, Cyn's eyes and hair returned to normal and she nearly collapsed in exhaustion. Staring at the defeated corpses of her enemies, she let loose a single sigh of relief.

* * *

Argus hefted the weight of his long sword, shifting it to more accurately gain a secure grip on it's hilt. The paladin was drenched in sweat, both from the heat and the amount of energy he had used to slay the undead duo. Years of traveling and fighting had given him excellent endurance though, and the paladin easily shrugged off any sign of exhaustion, pushing himself forward. 

Who or whatever was controlling the undead in Windsong was still at large and ultimately he couldn't quell the danger until he had defeated them.

A moan from behind him alerted him to more danger. Argus whirled around, sword at the ready. But when he saw the source of the noise, the sorrow that struck him nearly caused him to lose grip of his weapon. The dead infant he had seen earlier now stood before him, the child's corpse now horribly rotted by the same magic that had caused it to rise. The zombie moaned again, before flashing a devilish smile.

"You should leave" the infant said, in multiple voices. One belonged to the dead child, the other was demonic in nature. "You're intruding, and we don't like intruders."

"We?" Argus asked, his voice shaken by the injustice.

From behind the undead boy several more zombies shuffled forward, their eyes gleaming with desire. Desire for his flesh.

"Release your hold over these people or face the wrath of the Light!" the paladin shouted.

A chuckle came from the undead child. "Your Light is a false divinity! There is only one being worthy of devotion, and that is Baal, the unholy Lord of Destruction!"

"Cease this puppetry and face me, coward!" Argus yelled. "Or will you forever hide behind the clever cloak of a child?"

Suddenly, whatever had possessed the undead infant seemed to vanish and the boy began shuffling toward him in unison with the other undead townsfolk.

"Is this what you so desperately seek?" a deep, raspy voice asked, one very akin to the demonic side of the boy. The voice came from behind the paladin, and sounded almost like a whisper.

Argus carefully turned around, still keeping the oncoming horde of corpses in his line of view. Before him stood a figure that vaguely resembled the skeleton warriors he had fought, but was far more sinister. Twice as thick and a good foot taller then Argus, the newcomer wore golden armor that had worn from being buried decades underground. The figure wielded a sword that made the paladin's look like a butter knife, swinging the enormous weapon with ease. His eyes burned so red that one couldn't stare at them for long without their whole world turning the same color. Though this puppet master of sorts was very much undead himself, he moved with far more grace and power then the others. Argus guessed this fiend had come straight from the pits of Hell.

"You should've left when I gave you the chance" the newcomer said. "Now you'll have to join the others." He beckoned toward the shuffling horde of zombies.

"Who…..what are you?" Argus asked.

"I am the Terror that Stalks the Plains, the Heart of the Undead, the Crimson Knight of Hell!" the skeleton bellowed. "I am Lord Balthazar De Mascus!"

"You're also full of yourself…" Argus muttered.

Having obviously heard the comment, Balthazar pointed a finger at the paladin and roared an inhuman cry that shook the paladin to his core. "Vile Light-lover, you're existence on this plane is about to end!"

At that moment, the first zombie swiped at Argus with claws mutated by the process of undeath. The attack bounced right off his armor, but nearly knocked him off balance. The paladin raised his shield to block a second swipe from another walking corpse, only to be thrown to the ground from the impact.

A hideous cackle came from Balthazar as the zombie army swarmed over the fallen paladin, their moans of chorus of death and decay. On the ground, Argus desperately slashed away at his opponents. But even after the loss of limbs and heads, the zombie's kept attacking. It wouldn't be long until he was overwhelmed at this rate. Then, all he would be able to do was wait until they broke through his armor and began to devour his flesh.

"Yes, my children, yes! Feed!" Balthazar bellowed, reveling in the imminent death of the holy warrior.

As Argus began to buckle under the weight of his opponents, he cried out to the High Heavens. The paladin's words were old and full of both faith and magic. If the Light saw fit to answer his call, maybe Argus would have a chance to survive.

When at last his call had finished, the first zombie broke through his guard and slashed at his face. Pulling away, the paladin managed to minimize the damage, with only a trio of scratches across his cheek.

But as the zombie pulled back to prepare another strike, the air began to be filled with specks of light. A smile found the face of Argus.

"Behold Knight of Hell, the power of the Light!" the paladin shouted.

All around, the specks of light began spinning in spirals towards one another. As they got closer and closer, they began to take shape and the cries of Argus became merrier and merrier.

Balthazar watched the spectacle from afar. It was only when he realized the growing power the paladin had gathered that the confident smile left his bony face. Turning around, the skeletal demon slashed the air with his rune blade, the weapon leaving a trail of hellfire in it's wake. The hellfire spread into a circle, forming a burning portal. The demon stepped through, disappearing to another plane.

The specks of light had now fully combined, taking the form of a hammer of righteous power. The blessed hammer spun around at a surprising pace, striking all undead in it's path. Whenever a zombie was hit, it's wound was wrapped in a holy fire that spread across it's body until nothing but embers remained.

When enough of the zombies had been relinquished of the burden of their second lives, Argus got to his feet and joined in the holy slaughter. The minions of Hell fell by the dozen under the power of the paladin and the holy hammer. When only one opponent remained, the hammer stopped spinning and exploded into a nova of light. The power washed over the final zombie and completely consumed it. When the light faded, only Argus remained.

Completely exhausted, the paladin's sword slipped from his grasp and he fell to his knees. Nothing but prayers of thanks escaped his lips for the next few hours.


	3. Chapter III: Nights of Ebony

Darius FF: Thanks for your review and adding my story to your Favorites and Alerts.

* * *

CHAPTER III 

Nights of Ebony

"_The pen may be stronger then the sword. . . but I'd rather have a sword in a dark alley."_

_- Andrew Warnick_

* * *

Before he could possibly stomach leaving Windsong, Argus borrowed a spade and dug up graves for each of the fallen townsfolk that had not been reanimated by the fiendish figure that had called himself Lord Balthazar. Righteous anger filled the paladin every time he thought of the undead demon. The coward had fled when the Light had answered Argus's summons. It would appear that beyond all his gloating and arrogance, the sinister demon still feared the awesome power of the Light, something Argus would take full advantage of later. 

After finishing the burial of the townsfolk, the paladin took a final look at the scorned village and turned to depart. By now, the morning sun stood tall in the sky, blanketing the world below in a sheet of warmth and light. Argus loved this time of day, it brought with it a certain serenity and peacefulness that was rare these days. Part of working past the horrific sights a paladin came across was finding peace in any way they could. When Argus could simply bask in the sun's light and let the wind massage his head and face, he easily forgot the grisly ordeal he had just survived, if only for a short time.

A day of travel did the paladin well. Taking in the splendor that nature offered was quite therapeutic. The long route to Westmarch was one Argus was extremely familiar with. He knew every side path, shortcut and possible obstacle and was able to choose the quickest path. When he eventually did arrive at the capital city of the Western Kingdoms, he planned to speak with the High Priest of the Church. The sudden insurgence of the undead and the appearance of the Hell Knight would certainly be something worthy of the holy man's attention.

As the day wound down, Argus began searching for a place to camp. Just up the main road, the paladin knew of a small field where he could rest. The small amount of supplies he carried would only last him the night, but by midday tomorrow he speculated he would reach Westmarch. Already, in the distance, he could see the forest that surrounded the city.

The paladin hastily made a fire, rolling a log next to it to serve as a bench. It had been several days since he had last slept, and the added exhaustion from his latest battle was really wearing down on him. For only a second, the holy knight rested his head against the log. A second was enough. The visage of the fire faded from his view.

Cyndia of the Zann Esu had slain demons before throughout her journeys, but the Fallen she had just faced were by far the largest concentration she had seen so far. She knew that the forests of Westmarch were filled with all sorts of hazardous denizens, but she had expected to be able to sense them and therefore properly avoid them. For some reason, she had lost her vigilance while searching for them. She would not make that mistake again, she couldn't afford it. The battle had drained much of her power, and though it was rapidly returning, she did not want to risk another potential fight.

Instead, the sorceress spared as much of her reviving energy as she could on probing the areas around her. Twice now, she had failed to properly use her magic. For one claiming to be a master of the elements, she had surely not proven her title. Burning the wagon had shown an absolute lack of control. Only ten year olds didn't know how to squelch their magic when anger flared up. Then, she had let her guard down and not used it all, allowing a whole tribe of imps to sabotage her.

_Some sorceress I am_, she thought.

Night had fallen over the land, blanketing it in darkness. Cyn's vision, however, was quite unaffected by the sudden change. Long nights spent practicing her spells had given her near flawless night vision. She looked around for any sign of life, uncertain whether or not she could still trust her magic.

At the same time, her probes returned with some interesting information. At least ten entities were approaching her rapidly from behind. Sending out a much more detailed probe, the sorceress was able to put together that these were riders, half of their numbers being strong mounts. The city guards.

Cyn cursed her bad luck. She knew they would come for her.

Luckily, the guards were far back enough that it would take them several minutes to catch up to her. If they came across the corpses of the Fallen, she may even get a few extra minutes out of it. She prayed for the best and doubled her pace.

* * *

Captain Glaucus Agamemnon rode upon the back of a powerful white charger, two of his comrades on either side of him. Dressed down in a mixture of steel and iron armor with the insignia of Westmarch painted on his breastplate, the Captain represented the strength of the city well. His helm was in the shape of a falcon's head, the beak stretching down between his eyes and to the brim of his nose. At his hip, sheathed in its scabbard, was his long sword. Before the Captain had become a city guard, he had been a blacksmith of great skill. The long sword was the ultimate representation of his talents. 

The blade was at least the length of his arm and made out of the finest steel in the Western Kingdoms. Perfectly balanced, the weapon had just enough weight to do damage, but was also light enough to swing with great precision. Its hilt was decorated in the shape of a grand serpent, the eyes made of sapphires that glowed bright blue when the Captain held it, a sign of magical properties being bestowed upon the blade. Glaucus had named it Frostfire.

Other then the heavy breathing of their steeds, the guards moved in perfect silence. The others moved in unison with their Captain, the silent riders moving through the forest like ancient hunters. Across each of their backs, bows had been strung, along with a quiver of arrows. In one hand each guard carried a torch to light the way.

Glaucus was a serious man, especially when it came to running his assigned section of the city guard. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was cowards that fled in the face of justice. The other guards viewed him as a very strict enforcer, who rarely spoke unless he was giving an order or reprimanding an underling for poor performance. Only the best of Westmarch's city guard served under him, each as precise and efficient as him, for the man wouldn't stand for anything less than perfect.

Behind him and to the right rode his second in-command, lieutenant Phineus. Phineus was as close to an exact replica of his captain as one could get. Wherever the Captain went, his faithful lieutenant followed, always watching and learning, preparing for the day Glaucus would see him fit to become a Captain himself. Phineus was a short man, but was quite athletic and fit, often able to out-wrestle soldiers twice his size. His auburn hair and ivory skin made him stand out and hinted at the fiery rage that existed inside him. Glaucus himself had seen the lieutenant lose his temper and considered it the guard's only flaw thus far. Overall, the lieutenant was a solid officer and deserved every ounce of his respect his rank required.

As the guards broke through the nearest patch of foliage, they pulled their reigns in unison, their mounts having to skid a substantial distance because of the pace their riders had pushed them to. The sight before them would have been insignificant to most, possibly even not worth stopping for. But Glaucus dismounted and stepped forward.

The piles of ash that had once been demons, which was obvious from the charred skulls that remained, were scattered all around. From what he saw, Glaucus determined the cause of death had not been natural. The corpses had the stink of magic all over them. Turning toward his waiting soldiers, his face numb of any emotion, the Captain drew Frostfire. In an instant, the guards had drawn their weapons.

The sorceress had been here, and Glaucus had seen the evidence of her powers. He didn't intend for her to ever have the chance to use it on a free citizen. Mounting his steed, the Captain urged it forward, his silent soldiers following without hesitation.

* * *

Argus awoke suddenly, a chill creeping up his body. His acute senses told him something was amiss. His fire, along with his only possible light source, was out and utter darkness had consumed the land. Chalky smoke still rose from the embers, as if the fire had been _put _out instead of it dying out from lack of wood. As stealthily as he could, the paladin reached for his sword, careful not to let his armor clink together. But his hand found nothing but an empty scabbard. The paladin froze in a combination of surprise and fear. 

Whoever had put out his fire had also disarmed him, meaning they had physically touched him while sleeping. Why then had they not simply cut his throat while he slept? Several other questions ran through his mind. Normally, he would've sensed someone approaching and awoken. Was his lack of sleep to blame for his slow reaction speed?

"Reveal yourself" Argus almost whispered into the darkness. Not a single noise followed.

Rising to his full height, the paladin tried to be as quiet as he could, constantly glancing in every direction.

"Show yourself coward or face the wrath of the Light!" he yelled this time.

"There isss no Light here, paladin," an ominous voice responded, "only darknessss."

"Whose there?" Argus asked. The voice had come from all around him.

"Namesss are not important" the voice hissed. "You have chosssen the wrong path. Go back, or be crussshed."

"The wrong path?" the paladin asked. Did the voice mean the wrong trail to Westmarch, or was it making a reference to his holy knighthood?

"The Church will tell you nothing but liesss," the voice answered, "liesss that will lead to your downfall."

"Why are you telling me this?" Argus asked.

An otherworldly chuckle served as his response.

"We will meet again, paladin of the Light" it said in a very sinister manner. "And when we do, all will be clear. Until then, enjoy your ressst."

"But I'm not re-"

Argus shot awake in a cold sweat. His fire still burned brightly, though its original girth had diminished. He reached to his scabbard and found his sword waiting patiently.

_Was it all a dream? _he asked himself. _Some horrid nightmare brought on by exhaustion and trauma?_ He had had disturbing nightmares before. But this one, it had been so vivid and so…real, like he had been there.

Whoever the voice belonged to, it had been dreadful and wicked, but still something compelled the paladin to believe it. But to trust in what it said meant to turn his back from the teachings of Zakarum, from everything he had ever believed. His faith was far too strong to abandon the Church without proper evidence of wrongdoing.

His body now fully awake and unable to return to sleep, the paladin cast a glance in the direction of Westmarch. The city's torches covered it in a dull orange aura visible from even this far away. He decided one more night of traveling wouldn't scorn him. Besides, getting what information he had to the High Priest was more important then his rest.

Packing up everything he had, the paladin smothered his fire in dirt and started toward the forest's edge. He said one last prayer to the Light before he disappeared into the shelter of the woodland.

* * *

Cyn could hear and sense the approaching guards long before she could see them. Their horses breaking through the shrubbery and snapping twigs didn't exactly go unnoticed. In the distance, the sorceress saw the faint glow of torchlight. It surprised her that they were pursuing with such vigilance in the darkness. It was quite apparent that whoever was in command was a very dedicated man. All this over an accident? Then again, the guard that had reported it had probably told a very different story. Especially after Cyn had teleported away. 

Circling around her previous path, the sorceress ducked behind the trunk of a large tree. She listened as the guards charged past her, the breath of their steeds brisk with excitement. It was obvious that they had ran past her position, still following her original trail. The question was, had backtracking and sneaking off trail been enough to fool them?

That question appeared to be answered as the sound of horses coming to an abrupt stop filled her ears. The sorceress cringed. They must've found the end of her trail. Instead of silence, however, the sorceress suddenly heard voices.

"You there, paladin!" a man's voice called.

"What troubles you, officer?" a much more pronounced voice asked.

This time, a new voice broke in.

"Easy Phineus, I will handle this" the new voice was monotonous, but clear. "Hail, holy one. We are in pursuit of a fugitive."

The second voice was now much closer. "How can I help you?"

"We're looking for a woman, a magic-user" the first voice offered, more calm this time.

"I'm sorry," the second responded, "I haven't seen anyone all day. However, there is a village about a day's walk from here, it was besieged by the undead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the monotonous man said, "I will send one of my men to ride ahead to warn the city. Lionel, please assist this man."

"Thank you very much, I'll keep my eyes out for your fugitive."

With that, Cyn listened as one horse broke from the others and began galloping back toward the city. Soon after, the remaining steeds renewed their charge. After several tense moments of waiting, the sorceress sighed in relief and walked out from behind the tree she had used as cover.

The virtual wall of steel she walked into surprised her so badly that she lost her footing and fell backward. Before her stood a rather imposing figure, one of both strength and grace. The pale paladin appeared almost ghostly in the faint moonlight that seeped through.

"Perhaps luck is with you this day, milady," the man said, his voice pronounced and familiar. "It would appear the guards of Westmarch are not as meticulous as I am in their search of the forest. I picked up your trail quite easily."

A strong hand reached down and helped Cyn to her feet.

"How did you-" she began to ask.

"The Light sees all, _sorceress_" the paladin said.

"What about the guards?" Cyn asked.

"I am obligated to take you in" the paladin said.

"I won't go without a fight" the sorceress warned.

"I would expect nothing less" was the response.


	4. Chapter IV: The Tides of Loyalty

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read my story so far and a special thanks to all those who have taken the time to leave a review. Sorry it has been so long since the last chapter, life as an adult is more consuming then I thought it would be. Anyway, to those of you that were wondering, this fic will eventually start heading in a romantic direction, but action is its primary genre so remember that. Alright, hope you enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER IV 

The Tides of Loyalty

"_War is the only game in which it doesn't pay to have the home-court advantage."_

_- Dick Motta

* * *

_

Argus sized up the small-framed woman before him. To a paladin of his stature, such a person would seem nothing more than a twig which he could quite easily snap. However, Argus was no fool. He had seen the mystical powers wielded by magic-users such as the sorceress and he did not want to invoke them unless it was absolutely necessary.

"You overestimate your faith in the 'Light' which you hold so dear, paladin" Cyn said. "I could set you aflame in an instant."

"Perhaps your cockiness is what got you here in the first place, milady" the paladin retorted. "And I have a name, it's Argus."

"Names do not impress me, your _holiness_" the sorceress sneered.

"That's right, power is all you magic-users respect, right?" Argus mocked. "But where is your power when all you believe in is yourself? One day you will find that you are not enough, what will you do then?"

"I will rise to the challenge and I will become enough, for my powers know no limits!" Cyn boasted.

"If your magical powers are anything like the power of your mouth I may have a harder time then I originally thought bringing you in" Argus said.

Cyn's brow furrowed and her eyes began emanating a faint orange glow.

Before her lips could even form a word of the incantation she planned Argus's sword was unsheathed and pressed against her neck.

"I twitch and your head rolls" the paladin threatened.

"You're far too righteous for that" Cyn said. "But apparently you're also cowardly enough to draw steel against a poor, innocent woman. What does that say about your manhood?"

"It speaks volumes about my intelligence, for you are neither poor, nor innocent" Argus said. "Insults will not further your cause."

"They sure do make me feel better though" the sorceress mused.

"Stretch your hands forward so I may restrain them or I will have to get rough" the paladin instructed.

"I like it when you talk dirty to me, go ahead big boy, get rough!" Cyn taunted.

Argus went to move forward, only to find the sorceress had in fact thrust her hands forward, though she had no intent to surrender. The ensuing blast of energy was just enough to throw Argus off his feet and send his sword sprawling across the ground, but did little else.

"Not so strong without your blade, are you?" Cyn asked. She slowly bent over the paladin, showing amazing flexibility as she came face-to-face with him while still standing on both feet. "Now we can do this one of two ways," she said playfully. "You can let me go, or I can send you back to the Church bruised and battered."

"I see one problem with your options" Argus said.

"And what's th-" but Cyn's words were cut off as she was thrown over the top of her opponent and onto her own back. Argus rolled backwards and flipped around, forcefully grabbing both her wrists and pinning the magic-user to the ground.

"There is a third option, retribution" the paladin said, a smile forming on his lips.

Cyndia struggled for a few moments but quickly found that she was no match for the holy knight in terms of raw strength. Argus almost seemed to enjoy overpowering her.

"I cannot return to Westmarch, they'll throw me in the dungeons and leave me to rot" she said.

"And what business is that of mine? You are the one that set their streets aflame, its their decision what to do with you, not mine."

"I thought you Lightlovers were supposed to be caring and forgiving."

"You thought wrong then" Argus said, turning the sorceress to her back and quickly transitioning his hold over her so he could retrieve the rope from his supplies. "Won't you join me for a nice stroll in the woods?"

Just as the paladin finished his words he found himself sitting on the ground itself. The woman he had just been holding was nowhere to be found. Casting a glance in both directions and finding nothing, Argus smiled at his folly. He had underestimated the sorceress.

"By the way, Argus, was it? My name's Cyn, and next time, make sure you cover my mouth too" the sorceress said, appearing behind him.

Argus twisted to his feet but before he could even stand the magic-user disappeared in a flash of blue light.

"Cyn, huh? Makes sense considering the multiple sins you committed" the paladin spoke more to himself then anyone.

From behind a nearby tree Cyn watched as the paladin packed up his rope and returned to the main path leading through the forest. She would see him again, no doubt. And next time she would not be so merciful.

* * *

It was morning by the time Captain Glaucus called for his men to rest. They had ridden hard all night in pursuit of the sorceress and had come up empty handed. Though the Captain still remained adamant that they were hot on the woman's trail, his second in command's patience seemed to be wearing thin. 

"Captain, with all due respect I believe we may have ridden ahead of our fugitive" Phineus said, his face flush red with frustration. "She could've very easily cut back and lost us in the forest. What makes you so sure she went this way?"

"Lieutenant, are you questioning my command?" Glaucus asked.

"No sir, I'm merely trying to understand what we're doing here" the man said. Some of the color left his face.

"Phineus, I've hunted magic-users before" the Captain said. "Many times they are the only ones capable of escaping the city limits when the Guard is after them. Experience tells me the sorceress expects us to have lost her trail. I had hoped the paladin would've dealt with her but it appears he has failed."

"The paladin, sir?" Phineus asked. "How would he possibly have…"

"The trail of the sorceress was quite obvious, lieutenant," the Captain explained. "She had retraced her steps and hidden in the brush. However, I was forced to dispatch Lionel to warn Westmarch of possible attack by the undead."

"What does that have to do with capturing the sorceress?" the lieutenant asked.

"Have you ever faced a mage before Phineus?" the Captain asked, knowing full well the answer. "Even with Lionel our chances for success were slim. I would not risk the lives of all my men if I could instead use a Light-lover to accomplish the task. Even if he failed and the sorceress killed him at least the Church's numbers would've decreased. As of late, they've dispensed too much of their own justice and I'm tired of it. Don't you see? Either way, we win. But now, the paladin walks free as does the sorceress and we're forced to face her with depleted strength or not at all. I will _not _let my perfect capture record be ruined by some harlot and her magic tricks, understand?"

Phineus took a moment to absorb everything his commander had just told him. Glaucus planned on retaking the magic-user no matter what. Even if it meant the lives of all the good men around him. But the lieutenant was blindly loyal and would not express his worries to a man as dedicated to his work as Glaucus was. It would only fall on deaf ears. Though the decision burned at his very core, the lieutenant snapped to attention and saluted.

"Crystal clear, sir!" Phineus said with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Good lieutenant, then return to the others and help set up camp."

* * *

The great spires and domes of the Church stretched high above the roofs of the city, visible from every part of Westmarch. The stone structure was a representation of the both the Church's strength and its resilience. The main body of the Church was a massive dome, dwarfed on each side by matching towers. Behind the dome a lovely garden stretched toward another pair of towers at the rear of the structure. The garden was open to the commoners for night prayer and was often used to attract tourists and convert them to the Light. 

The Church was like home to Argus. When he wasn't on a holy crusade in the name of the Light, he was there, conversing with his fellow worshippers. The paladin enjoyed what little time he got to spend there.

As he made his way through the main hall, Argus was greeted by a familiar figure dressed in robes. The man had been withered by time, his skin wrinkled and his hair graying but his lips still formed an ever present smile.

"Argus, my son, you have returned!" the old man said merrily.

"Father Mercius, good to see you!" Argus returned, smiling faintly. "But I'm afraid that I return with grave news. I must speak with the High Priest."

The smile faded from Mercius's face.

"What could possibly be so urgent that you must interrupt our holy leader during morning prayer?" the Father asked.

"In my journeys I came across an army of undead led by a demon calling itself a Hell Knight" Argus explained, trying to keep his voice down as not to panic any of the nearby worshippers.

"My son, the undead can only be raised by necromancers and a choice few demons, the chances that you faced a Hell Knight are quite sli…" Mercius began.

"I know what I saw, Father" Argus said sternly. The paladin watched all signs of merriment drain from the Father's face, turning it cold and emotionless.

"A marauding necromancer is nothing the High Priest needs to concern himself with, I will see to this problem myself" Mercius said, turning away before Argus could argue.

"Father! Father!" the paladin yelled, but the holy man continued his path with little regard for Argus, disappearing down a slim corridor that led to the Church's personal quarters.

Confused and offended, Argus stormed out toward the garden.

If Mercius, the man who had been there for him all his life, would not heed his words then what hope did he have of the High Priest heeding them? Either way, he would have to try, Argus decided. The appearance of this Hell Knight and the organization of an undead army would surely cause the Light to be unbalanced. And if that happened, Baal's strongest opposition would perish and the Brothers would seize control of all of Sanctuary. Argus couldn't let that happen. No matter what his superior thought, he knew what he had seen and experienced.

Plucking a small tulip from the garden and letting its glorious pollen tickle his nose, the paladin tried to calm himself. He bent down on one knee and began praying harder then he ever had before. He would need as much guidance from the Light as he could get if he planned to defy one of it's most holy followers by confronting the High Priest.

Steeling himself and drawing courage from his own faith, Argus rose to his feet and began the short trek to the High Tower, resting place of the Priest. The paladin was sure that this was indeed a test of his loyalty and faith in the Church, but it was one he was prepared to fail should it get his point across. He would come to blows with the High Priest himself if it meant saving all of Sanctuary from enslavement. In that sense, one could easily say he had lost faith but the paladin saw it as the ultimate embrace of the Light and its teaching. The Church had always taught its followers to do what was right, no matter the consequence.

Today, Argus would put those teachings to the test.


End file.
